Fractured Souls (Soul of a Dragon Book 3)

by Clara Hartley

  “What’s your name?” he asked the other guard. He realized that even though they shared the same shifts, he hadn’t been bothered to ask. He’d been so lost in the gray of it all that he couldn’t be bothered by those surrounding him.

  “My…” The guard’s eyebrows rose, “…name? I thought you knew. Pollick.”

  “So how did you end up in this place?” He wondered why the sudden inclination to find out more burned in him. Recalling his past re-lit the need to protect. He had to get Constance out of here, and he might as well help Greta by figuring out a plan. It seemed unlikely that the sporadic, crazy, old dragon could come up with anything tangible.

  Pollick scowled. The large-nosed fellow drew back. “Mind your own business.”

  The Dragon Mother had something over the heads of all their wretched souls. If Jaerhel could simply figure out what, then maybe he could reel the drakin to his side.

  The Mother was seemingly omnipotent, but as a collective, just maybe, they had a chance.

  Just a sliver of hope was enough.

  “She’s got something of mine,” Jaerhel said, looking at Constance.

  Pollick rubbed a dirt-covered hand over his nose. “Same here. She’s got something on all of us.”

  Constance had hidden herself in the shadows of the place. He could make out how shriveled she was with his dragon eyes. Her hair covered most of her face.

  I’ll get you out, he said in his head. Then maybe you’ll love me instead.

  20

  If there was one boon to being a drakin, it was being fed well.

  That didn’t mean much to Jaerhel, however. He had little appetite these past days. All that ran through his mind were his insecurities and the harm he’d done. But, he still ate. He had to. He was a dragon on the inside. He couldn’t appreciate the food, not when he knew its price—starvation and famine amongst the outer districts, where the Unfavored lived.

  The clinking of tableware resounded through the lavish cafeteria. The drakin had the best facilities in all of Ayesrial. Even his fork was made of precious gemstones, and the cushions of where they sat were lined with red velvet. Despite the luxury, he had to show up for lunch right after his first shift, even if he had no appetite. It kept things orderly and the drakin at a proper reporting schedule, so they stayed faithful soldiers.

  The conversations were often hushed and calculated. Other soldiers, perhaps in Gaia, could drink to their hearts content and make jokes. But these men were under the sharp talons of the Dragon Mother. Few served out of true loyalty. Those who did were usually up in the higher ranks, not like the ones he sat with. The lower ranks were filled with men under tight nooses, constantly strangled into doing as told.

  “I had to throw a little girl into a cell today,” one of them, a tall, stumpy fellow, muttered through his food. He was stubby, but still decent-looking. The Mother liked to keep beauty around her. The lower ranks didn’t have to be filled with gorgeous men, not like the higher ups, but properly proportioned features were a must. “Doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t have to kill her,” Pollick said from beside him. “Also, you’re not supposed to talk about these things. Shush.”

  “Dragon Mother’s got your panties all up in a bunch,” the brute said, through a mouthful of food.

  “Rightfully so. She’s got my entire wardrobe in a big ass bundle and that’s how she’s going to keep it. You lot ought to surrender your panties, too.”

  The brute snorted, and took another big bite. “Fucking pussy.”

  Jaerhel kept his eyes fixated on his plate and continued to chew his chicken. The men would sometimes let out their grievances like that—there was only so much they could take to keep to themselves in a service so isolated. The new recruits, especially, liked to talk. They hadn’t been numbed by the horrors they had to do yet. Some reveled in the pain they caused. Jaerhel supposed that they had it the luckiest, since they got to stay in their element.

  “I don’t like it,” the over-sized fellow continued. He picked up his mug and swallowed a large gulp. The water dripped to his chin, and he swiped it aside with the back of his hairy forearm.

  “Suck it up, then,” Pollick said.

  “If the Mother magicked up a cock you’d be sucking it.”

  “Fuck off. I’m just doing what I’m supposed to.”

  Jaerhel set his fork down and looked at the brute, acknowledging his earlier comment. “I had to take my sister’s own little girl to her. To be harvested.” He wasn’t sure what compelled him to let that out. A hushed silence befell the whole table. A few men stopped eating.

  “Why are you bringing stuffs like this up, aye?” Pollick asked. “You know we don’t talk about such things. Not unless you want to end up going through centuries of torture.” Pollick made a sour expression, and checked for the higher ups listening. Their superiors wouldn’t be dining with them—they had the special meals. They were closer to the Dragon Mother and served her more intimately.

  Sometimes Jaerhel wondered if those superiors were just as broken as they were. Their minds were probably too far gone. “We’re always bottling up our past, letting it snowball.” He kept his eyes locked with theirs. “Maybe if we shared more… maybe if we did, it’ll make a difference.”

  Some people sitting around the table nodded along with him. Others avoided his gaze.

  Pollick rolled his eyes. “Good that’ll do. It’ll just emphasize how shitty our lives are and gives us more reason to sulk around.” He continued to search for prying ears, then leaned over and whispered, “Besides, the Mother doesn’t like us discussing these things. If she gets wind of it…”

  “It’s not fair,” Jaerhel said, refusing to lower his volume. “Perhaps if we banded together, as a collective, we can be free. My sister was stolen away from me. And now the Mother wants to control the rest of my life. What else are you going to let her take?”

  A few men muttered agreement beneath their breaths.

  “She’s got my mate,” one of them said.

  “She found me as a boy,” another added. “She’s got my ma, or at least she says she does, but I haven’t seen her in years. I can only work hoping that I can see her again.”

  Pollick was scowling like a child who had just been refused candy.

  “And do you think you will?” Jaerhel asked the man who had lost his mother.

  The man shook his head. “No, I don’t think I’ll see my ma, or my sister, anytime soon, if ever.”

  “We might have a way out.” Jaerhel pushed aside his food. “Someone I know… she’s prying around for an escape and will have others with her. If we sweep the Mother’s own rug from under her, surprise her, the goddess will be be caught by surprise.”

  “You want to fight the goddess?” Pollick said, eyes wide open with horror. “Do you have a fucking death wish?”

  “Luckily,” the brute said. “I don’t have any panties in my wardrobe.” Then he paused, showing fear through his eyes. “But maybe Pollick’s right. It’s not good to talk about this so openly.”

  “Hear me out,” Jaerhel said. “The goddess isn’t all-powerful. She has dark magic but that doesn’t mean her power is unlimited. She still needs souls. If we can take that from her, she’ll be just as good as any witch without power.”

  Pollick inhaled a large gulp of water. “Good luck with that,” he said, chuckling, spitting some of his drink out as he did.

  The brute stood up, then stepped away from his seat. “I’ll get a second helping.”

  They watched him stride away. Jaerhel could see the longing on some of his peers. They wanted to dodge this conversation as well. It could get them into a enormous pile of trouble.

  He continued, “If we can shackle her with dragon stone, or remove her harvests, we can take her down.” This idea had come to his mind abruptly. It was likely his consciousness’s way to fight back. Like a prisoner who had been beat down too much, he was seeking any reason to find hope, as unbelievable o
r fantastical that might be.

  “Well, if you manage it, send me word. I’ll be the first to come running. Heck, I’ll even kiss you. But I don’t think that’s ever going to happen.” Pollick stood, and the legs of his chair screeched on the marble ground. “I’m done here.”

  Jaerhel pulled his lips into a tight line. “I can’t do it alone. We need a plan, to be carried out by all of us. If some of us are still on the Mother’s side, there’ll be more resistance. And then we’d have no way to win.”

  “Look around you, moron. We’re all too afraid. Some of us are going to fight for her whether we like it or not. I bloody well would. If this succeeds then that’s great, but that’s just a dream for fools like you. We’ve got everything to lose, and more if we fail and we’re not going to risk that.”

  “We’ve already lost everything.”

  Pollick curled his lip up. “Yeah right, we’ve got the best of it all. A roof over our heads and as many meals as we want. Heck we can fuck around with the common folk during our spare time. Sure, she’s got something dangling over all of us but we’ve still got it good compared to the ones she doesn’t favor. We might be her lap dogs but we’ve got nice comfy cushions to sleep on every night.”

  His companions mumbled their agreements.

  “Stop being a dumb ass,” Pollick said, “And be grateful for what you have.”

  It felt like Jaerhel’s fate was cast in stone after Pollick’s reprimand. That little glimmer of hope was snatched from him as soon as it appeared. He sighed as the men left. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t convince them. The Mother had them wound around her slender, magic-covered finger. She’d been doing this for a million years and he was a baby in comparison, despite his two hundred. The men’s minds were already so fogged up by the fear she crafted that they wouldn’t listen to him.

  Hell, he couldn’t listen to himself.

  He gathered his utensils and lifted himself from his seat, readying to return them.

  Just then, a squire rushed up to him.

  “The Mother’s looking for you,” the squire said. “Better hurry because she doesn’t like to wait.”

  The hot, intense lust Rayse experienced was making him lose his mind. His dragon thrashed and snapped inside him. It was furious at being tricked.

  The mating had started when Constance’s soul returned. Rutting with the goddess seemed to calm it down, but whenever Constance left, a the pang of betrayal took over him, and his dragon rose with anger. The need to have his mate renewed in him with twice the vigor.

  He hadn’t been able to sleep much, either. His dragon was pulling his mind apart, trying to get him to mate with Constance. It was panicking because it couldn’t find his mate. Rayse constantly suffered a blend of exhaustion and hunger, and it was killing him.

  “Little bird,” Aesryn said, with a cooing tone which infuriated him. “Come sit by my side.”

  He scooted over, dragging his feet.

  She looked up at him with her multi-colored irises, and a curve on her cherry red lips. “Well?”

  He sat himself down on her sheets. The marble walls were beautiful, but a cage nevertheless. How long had it been since he last saw the skies, and flew amongst the winds? His dragon ached to be free.

  “That’s a good boy.” She wrapped her hands around him and dragged him to her chest.

  He did as commanded because he had been beaten into submission. He existed as her lap dog. A toy for her to pass the time.

  They all were.

  All he had known—the Everstones, the humans, Ayesrial. They’d always belonged to the Dragon Mother. She’d carved her empire with the blood of millions, whether they knew it or not.

  He felt filthy. Every time she touched him, his stomach turned, and a sudden urge to scrub his skin till it was bare gripped him. Still, he couldn’t show his disgust. It would only spur more jealousy in the goddess, and he and Constance would suffer her wrath tenfold. It felt like they had hit rock bottom, but the end of the pit was always better than it seemed. Rayse knew the Mother could do worse.

  The first time she’d place her torture spell on him, she had left him there, curled up like a ball, screaming, before his mind broke and he ended up mewing like a strangled kitten for an entire day. His brain had turned into clay by then, free for the Mother to do whatever with.

  She had him eating out of her hand. Not through true adoration—no, never that, but pure fear. He was like a war hound, bound by spiked chains and nailed to the ground.

  “Kiss me, Edrienne.”

  She wouldn’t even give him the privilege of being called his own name. He was nothing but a whisper of his past lives, but she clung onto that minuscule remnant of her old lover, unwilling to give it up. He bit back a retort.

  He didn’t want to kiss her. He wanted his wings to carry him to the other end of Gaia, as far as possible away from the goddess as they could take him.

  He hesitated, not wanting to lower his lips on her. The goddess smiled, and sent a stinging through his left temple. He obliged, hating himself every minute he tasted her disgusting scent.

  And Constance…

  What did this do to her?

  He saw the way Jaerhel looked at her each time that guard came to fetch her.

  She is mine.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about her, even as this demon forced him into her bed.

  “You’re boring me,” the goddess said.

  He turned away. What did he care about how amused the goddess was?

  “So I brought extra entertainment,” she continued. The doors swung open. Two men came strode in, followed by Constance. Her cheeks were constantly being tear-stained these days. If only he could wipe her tears away for her.

  He fisted his hands and resisted the straining heat rising in him. It was first directed at his mate. His dragon struggled in his mind, driving him to the edge, tipping him into a state of animal savagery. If the goddess left him alone with Constance then, he wouldn’t be able to hold back himself.

  And then his emotions were manipulated. He fought against their turning with all the mental strain he could provide. His feelings for the Mother and Constance hazed, merging. Hate and love, love and lust. Then all he could think about was how gorgeous the goddess looked, sitting in front of him, with her opalescent, marble-like skin, and the raven locks curling around her breasts. She was all he could ever wish for. Too perfect.

  He caught her chin in his hand and pushed her lips against his, tasting their beautiful sweetness. His dragon hummed in the background, showing just a hint of confusion. It couldn’t possible have two mates.

  His grasp sought the goddess’s soft mounds. He pressed onward, cornering her onto the bed, crawling over her as the heat surged through him like a blazing storm.

  “Come, my boys,” the goddess said, with a voice so musical he thought it would break his heart.

  All the while his other mate watched, but his feelings of her had been dulled, like a blunted knife.

  And then he wasn’t alone with the goddess anymore. Two hungry men prowled to his female, both with golden-bright skin, one with striking white hair and the other bearing a deep maroon ponytail. Their eyes flashed yellow.

  Rayse sensed the anger rising in him. He wasn’t one to share.

  His talons lengthened—just barely--something was suppressing his ability to shift and it made his dragon howl inside.

  He dug his fingers into the back of one of the males. His fingertips pierced the male’s skin, lodging inside like a hooked blade. He tossed the male across the room. The male slammed into the wall, his bones making a cracking sound which ripped through the air.

  Rayse felt sharp talons digging into his own back. The other intruder threw him across the room. A thud sounded as he slammed against the hard ground. He winced. He wouldn’t heal as quickly as he usually did. He recognized that his dragon was weakened because he hadn’t fully claimed a mate.

  He didn’t care, however. He would suffer thousands of more in
juries if he could protect the woman he loved.

  Hot fury trickled through his pores, and he lunged forward, back at the intruder who threw him. He cried out, trying to summon black wings from his back, but something was stopping from him. He saw red as his fist flew across the jaw of his opponent. Rayse sent the man’s head crashing against the bed post.

  An abrupt force hit his head. The scent of blood filled the air. His own? Or his opponents? He didn’t bother figuring it out. He retaliated, and aimed for the throat of his assailant.

  A kick dug into his side. He was lost in his rage and lust.

  He would do anything to protect what was his.

  Constance couldn’t stand what was playing out in front of her.

  Rayse had truly lost his mind.

  He had no reason to fight those men, and yet he came rushing at them as if they’d wronged him in the most terrible of ways. She sat helplessly, bound by the ropes that Jaerhel tied her with every time she entered the Mother’s chambers, and the dragon stone anklet which suppressed her powers. Her eyes blazed with resolve, but resolve couldn’t do anything against sheer power.

  She crawled to her feet. She wanted to leap in and protect Rayse, but she had no bite.

  The Mother edged to the corner of her bed and grinned. “Now, sister, that’s what you call love.”

  This was nothing more than a sport to the goddess.

  Her mate was getting hurt and it was little more than a game to the goddess.

  And the Mother still dared to profess her love for Rayse. It made Constance’s blood boil.

  “What did you do to those men?” she asked.

  The Mother licked her lips. “Years of conditioning. Now they care for only me. That’s how it should be for every one.” She brushed the fabric of her dress aside, and crossed her legs. She leaned forward and rested her elbow on her thigh, and her hand on her chin.

  “If you’re going to take our souls, do it already. Don’t you think we have already suffered enough of this madness?”